Getting old is like climbing a mountain; you get a little out of breath, but the view is much better! — Ingrid Bergman

So many beaches, so little time…

The only way Jaya could get us to leave Goa’s beaches was with the promise of more beaches in Karnataka. Better, warmer, bigger beaches. But first we went to Cabo de Rama fort, a small strategically located hilltop medieval structure that was captured back and forth between Hindu and Muslim kingdoms until it came under Portuguese control in 1760. The Portuguese fortified the structure, built up the stone walls, and added a deep moat and 21 cannon. Eventually the site was used as a government prison until 1955. We didn’t know what to expect when we arrived to see stone ramparts surrounding a small Catholic church which was closed for renovation. One of the work crew pointed to a path leading to the walls of the old fort, so we headed that way, past the sign for “Pabble Beach” with the first “a” scratched out and “e” superimposed.

We peered through a small opening in the stone walls to see the path down to the beach. The near vertical, narrow, looooong way down to the sand-less, rocky beach. Several other visitors, red-faced and panting, were hauling themselves back up the rocks and onto the ramparts.

Why am I telling you about this dusty little fort? Because it represents one of those life moments of pure revelation. There was a time we would have looked at the gorgeous scene, and headed straight down. It would have been scary and risky and really difficult but ultimately have made a good story.

This wasn’t that time. We looked at each other and our reaction was unanimous. “Hell to the no!”

With age, our travels have taught us two things. (Three things if you count knowing to carry a bungee cord to rig a clothesline in the hotel bathroom.)

1. We can say NO and we don’t have to give a reason.
2. Our energy will run out before our money does.

As exhausted hikers continued to pull themselves up and over the edge to safety, Jaya simply walked on a short distance until she found a beautiful stone circle built into the walls and overlooking gorgeous (and non-life-threatening) views. We celebrated our not dying by visiting the coconut seller outside the fort for some delicious coconut water.

Next morning, we checked out of our hotel and into a secret life as union-busting scabs. Jaya tried to book a taxi to Karwar, our next stop a few hours away. The fare seemed way too high to her, so she called our our next hotel in Karwar for advice. They quoted a price that was about half that of the Goa taxi, but told her that because the taxis in Goa are completely locked down by their union, the Kanwar taxi couldn’t safely approach our hotel.

Clearly, it was not their first time at this particular rodeo. The Karwar taxi driver laid out our mission plan. First, we had to take a union taxi from our hotel into town and ask to be dropped at the bus stop. We were to wait there five minutes, then casually mosey across the street to the grocery shop before calling our new driver. (Because, he confided to Jaya, if the local drivers spotted him, they would beat him up.) All went well, although the Goa taxi driver was clearly suspicious. He asked when our bus was arriving, and from which direction. Jaya played it cool and said she was still confirming. The Goa union taxi driver let us out at the bus stop but then circled around to check on us again. We waved. Just after that, our Karwar driver showed up and we hustled into his cab.

Traffic was heavy (possibly due to the India National Day celebrations the next day) and we didn’t arrive at Karwar until just after noon. Our room wasn’t ready, so we admired the other gorgeously dressed guests attending a wedding on site, and went to have a fabulously delicious lunch. After we checked into our room, we heard a booming crash. Peering over our balcony, we saw a car below that had apparently just smashed into the iron supports for the hotel’s large sign. Beautifully dressed wedding guests, passersby, and hotel staff surrounded the car and lifted it up, while others pulled out the man who had been trapped underneath. To our amazement, he stood up and walked into the hotel, presumably for a quick trip to the hospital or at least a very stiff drink.

Jaya asked the front desk clerk how to get to the beach and to the Rock Garden (an open-air history museum). The clerk looked over our chubby trio and told her we would need two autorickshaws. At least. Unimpressed, Jaya booked our usual single vehicle and the three of us piled in.

We went to the remarkable Rock Garden Museum; a series of tribal dwellings complete with realistically posed and painted concrete statues posed to show scenes from everyday tribal life. From there we went to Rabindranath Tagore Beach to wade through warm waves and watch a gorgeous sunset. As we came back to our hotel, we passed the departing wedding party, with the bride in traditional tears as she officially left her childhood home behind and traveled to her new in-laws’ house.

Next morning we went for early morning boat trip on the Kali River as it flows into the Arabian Sea. It was a beautiful morning for boating even before we saw the dolphins. So many dolphins, playing around the boat, and turning an already enjoyable outing into pure magic. After a brief stop to visit a temple on a tiny uninhabited island, our little boat passed divers gathering clams [click here for video] and then headed back to shore.

We returned to our hotel to check out, already thinking about the next beach.